


Partners in Crime

by evilicious



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilicious/pseuds/evilicious
Summary: Arsene and Robin Hood are just a couple of thieves pretending to be in a relationship.
Relationships: Arsene/Robin Hood (Persona Series), Loki/Robin Hood/Seiten Taisei (Persona Series)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Partners in Crime

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a short 'oh, what if the Personas were human and also babysitters/guardians for the main cast' AU that I was doodling. The idea of Arsene and Robin being a divorced couple that are also BFFs that feign hatred towards one another to keep up appearances tickled me so much that I had to flesh out how exactly that came to be. Enjoy.

Contrary to all their actions towards each other suggesting otherwise, Robert Hood and Arsene Du’Pene were not married. Yes, they pretended to be married, and, yes, legal documentation also claimed they were wed, but that was simply because it was far easier to play the happy couple than to constantly come up with different excuses for why they lived together and traveled together and split everything they earned and owned right down the middle.

In truth, they were thieves, and damn good ones at that. A large part (a large, _very_ important part) of being a damn good thief is not getting caught. Part of not getting caught is having a cover story, thus the fake marriage. They’re so dedicated to the act that even Arsene’s younger sister remains blissfully ignorant of her brother’s more illegal past-times. Every year, she sends the pair an assortment of cute anniversary and holiday cards that Arsene leaves up on the fridge for months until Robin decides to take them down, and always complains that she wasn’t invited to the wedding over the phone.

_“No one_ was invited to the wedding, Marie,” Arsene had to calmly explain for the umpteenth time, trying to make eye-contact with his housemate so they could share an eyeroll. “Robin likes his privacy.”

“And _I’d_ like to meet my brother’s husband! How long have you two been married again?”

“Ah,” Arsene had to think about it. “Ten years?”

Robin didn’t even look up from his book. “Twelve.”

“Twelve years,” the Frenchman corrected. “And you have met him.”

His sister scoffed. “Funerals do _not_ count. If it weren’t for Ren, I’d start suspecting you married a ghost. You better bring him when you come next month.”

She sounded more frustrated than suspicious, but it would be stupid to risk it. That was the reason, and the _only_ reason, Robin insisted, why he joined Arsene on his trip to Japan. It had nothing to do with spending an extra week with his not-husband’s adorable little nephew before taking the boy back to England with them for the rest of the summer. Absolutely not. Ren was adorable, yes, but not adorable enough for Robin to willingly subject himself to more of Arsene’s blood relatives.

Nope.

“How do you feel about ‘Akira Kurusu?” Arsene says suddenly.

“Is that food, a sex position, or anime?” Asks Robin warily.

“You think I’d talk about sex positions in the open like this?”

Robin gives him a flat look.

They’re sitting in one of the booths in the run-down western-style diner three blocks away from the airport as they wait for his sister to pick them up. They would have eaten somewhere closer, but Robin’s a blonde, six-foot-five, two-hundred-sixty-pound white man in Japan. Even dead-on-his-feet exhausted from an eighteen-hour flight, he looks like he just walked off the pages of a comic book, and people always want photos with him; it’s easier to avoid larger crowds, altogether, if they can help it, at least until Robin has some actual food in his stomach. If he didn’t find the soft-spoken man posing with kids so hilarious, Arsene might be a bit offended that he could wear a red trench coat, a top-hat, and six-inch stiletto boots in the heat of summer and not garner as much attention as Robin got by doing absolutely nothing.

Not that he’s currently wearing that. It’s July and they’re traveling. Arsene may be a diva, but he’s at least _sensible_ about it-- His heels are only three inches and the top-hat’s in his suitcase.

“It’s a name,” Arsene clarifies. “I was thinking—Ren deserves a proper one. A thief name.”

“He’s only six.”

“High time to start teaching him to take on the family business, then.”

It wasn’t exactly a family business when Arsene was the only member of his family in it, but Robin doesn’t vocalize this. He rolls his eyes and shoves another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Japanese pancakes are different from what he’s used to. They aren’t as sugary as the ones in America, though not as bland as the English variation. They’re thick as bicycle tires, and filled with a thick strawberry filling. Absolutely heavenly.

Something behind Arsene catches his eye, and the taste immediately sours. 

“I don’t like that man,” Robin says with a disarmingly-pleasant smile and a playful jilt to his tone, pointing his fork at the television screen hanging above Arsene’s head.

To the rest of the mostly-Japanese patrons of the establishment, it probably sounds like he’s making a joke. “There’s something off about him. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell you it’s left plenty of skeletons in his closet.”

Arsene glances at the television. He doesn’t have his partner’s knack for immediately picking up on people’s character, but he can’t help agreeing that something was most definitely off about the man on the screen.

Going after a high-profile person is the kind of high-stakes challenge Arsene _lives_ for. However, this trip isn’t about sky-diving without a parachute. It’s about visiting family.

So, instead of getting excited at the prospects of planning a heist with such short notice, Arsene can only sigh. “Robin…”

“At least give me his name.”

He scribbles the English alphabetized phonetic reading of the politician’s name onto a napkin and vanishes it into his sleeve with a flick of his wrist.

“We’re not here on business,” he reminds his partner. It’s code for ‘I’ll let you do your research, and we’ll act at a later date.’ “So, whatever you do, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Naturally,” Robin smiles back at him. “Doing stupid, flamboyant things is _your_ forte.”

And Arsene can’t really argue. It’s the truth. He’s gotten caught breaking and entering homes to pet cats more times than he’d care to count, and the attire he chose when on missions was impractical, borderline dangerous.

He trusts Robin to be the sensible one. He trusts Robin not to do anything rash, at least not without him, because that’s how their partnership _works._ That’s what makes them so successful.

Robin has an unyielding sense of justice that bordered on pettiness, and he knew it. He got far too impassioned when it came to playing hero and righting wrongs; every injustice had him emotionally involved, which was his greatest strength as much as weakness.

That’s where Arsene came in. He was too greedy for his own good, and an adrenaline junkie, to boot. If left to his own devices, he would hoard treasures like a dragon and jump off buildings simply to see if he could.

Unless Robin managed to find tangible evidence proving a person’s guiltiness as well as something of value wrongfully “stolen,” Arsene would not act. If Arsene couldn’t come up with a morally justifiable reason to steal something from someone, Robin wouldn’t get involved.

Arsene came up with ridiculous, impossible ideas with dramatic flair. As a former competitive gymnast, he was flashy and flamboyant with the devil’s luck and a knack for breaking and entering. He was a performer. That was his _thing._ Robin’s thing was logic-ing the impossible them into existence. Robin was an ex-Navy seal who’d deserted in the middle of his first campaign, and, despite the US military having all of his information on record, he somehow managed to _not_ be on any wanted or watch lists. At times, Robin is far too rigid and often gets stuck in the moment as soon as a small detail goes wrong; every single time, Arsene pulls him out with an act of spontaneity. Their strengths complimented each other.

Neither acted alone, and neither was half as good without the other.

That’s how it worked. That’s how _they_ worked.

After they finish dragging their suitcases into his sister’s guestroom, Arsene trusts Robin with the identity of a potential future target.

When his partner repeatedly sneaks out to go ‘sight-seeing’ three nights in a row, Arsene lets him. He doesn’t question it.

Unfortunately, the master thief completely overestimated his partner’s ability to gage what was and wasn’t stupid because, when Robin returns to Marie’s guestroom (which— _thankfully,_ is right next to the backdoor) on the third night, he’s holding a small child. Behind him stands a man Arsene is 90% positive is the world’s most successful hitman, codenamed Loki.

When the man steps out of Robin’s shadow, that 90% skyrockets to absolute certainty.

Unlike _most_ mercenaries—the _smart_ ones with the decency and brains to wear black and look inconspicuous—Loki, well. He _doesn’t._ His outfit consists of a black-and-white attention-grabbing jumpsuit, platform heels and a helmet with _two-foot high_ horns. The helmet, thankfully, is tucked under the arm not holding the canvas bag that’s only _just_ small enough not to pass as a body-bag.

Arsene patiently waits five seconds after the door is bolted shut and locked and the child (he’d somehow forgotten that the child was a variable with _Loki_ in the room) is tucked into the queen-sized bed before demanding an explanation.

“Shido put a hit on his own son.” Robin spits out. He doesn’t yell—he’s far too professional to lose his temper in such a way that can be overheard. His eyes are red and angry, but his voice shakes with a mixture of rage and despair.

“And you brought the hitman back too, because?”

“Because I refuse to kill a child,” Loki sets down the bag he’s carrying with ease, and it makes an unsettling _clunk_ against the floor. “Killing an employer, however…”

Arsene whips around to Robin. “You didn’t.”

“I stopped him. Shido’s still breathing,” The _unfortunately_ is left unsaid.

“Robin—” Arsene flourishes his hand around, desperately trying to vocalize his hectic emotions. This doesn’t happen often, this loss for words; the rare occasion the flamboyant thief is struck with a case of brain-to-mouth mute-iny tends to be when he needs to speak the most. So, Robin waits in silence for his partner to gather himself, and Loki starts peeling off his ridiculous getup like a shake shedding skin.

Arsene tries again.

“You brought a _hitman_ into my sister’s house, Robin!” he hisses. “I don’t care what or _who_ you do in your free time, but this—” he flails in Loki’s general direction. “isn’t it!”

Robin winces. Loki has the decency to appear uncomfortable, sitting on the floor unlacing his boots.

“What if someone saw you?” Arsene continues. “This is a residential area, and nobody walks around dressed like _that._ Are the other people in this house in danger?”

“Nobody saw us,” Robin argues weakly.

“Oh, because _he_ killed them?!” the shorter thief exploded.

Loki loudly shoves his left boot into his bag and starts unbinding the right. “Don’t worry, I was just leaving,” He says, before realizing he’s not getting very far in one six-inch boot. “..after I change.”

“Changing” out of his dumb supervillain attires turns out to be a ridiculously long ordeal that leaves Arsene mildly impressed. Don’t get him wrong: Loki’s a killer. He’s scum. But, _damn_. His attention to detail is impeccable.

Robin is playing close attention as well, and Arsene has a sneaky feeling he knows _exactly_ what caused his partner’s sudden act of reckless stupidity.

* * *

Luke Luafeyette, codename Loki, is the world’s most infamous assassin. The planet’s single-most dangerous individual, according to several wanted lists placing his name at the top. His employer is seemingly nonexistent, despite his targets all being high-profile and heavily guarded. He’s cocky, flamboyant, strikes down nobody but his intended victims, and always makes himself known. Footage of him laughing manically while confronting a mob boss with a blood-red sword went viral, and, after a stunt he pulled at a televised event involving Norwegian officials, he’s become regarded as some kind of real-life supervillain online.

Luke Luafeyette, alias “Black Mask” is a free-lance mercenary. It’s not something he’s proud of, but it’s how he can afford keeping up his _other_ identity. His rank fluctuates, but he’s usually around number twenty on the Most Wanted list, directly below terrorists and leaders of hate crimes. He kills for a buck, and that’s it. It’s just business.

With any business, there’s always a bit of disconnect when it comes to _costumer service._

There are two types of awful employers: the ones who gave him nothing but a name and affiliation to work with and expected him to be able to figure out everything about his target from that alone, and the ones who tried to get _too_ involved.

Of the two, he would prefer the vague ones nearly every time.

Part of being a free-lance hitman—the boring part—is figuring out the optimal time to strike. It’s busywork, usually. If he had someone backing him, it’d be easier, but Loki’s a solo-act. It suits him just fine. While the act of killing itself is something he garners no pleasure from, _planning_ is something he truly enjoys. There’s something about outlining possible outcomes and drafting plans and plans and backup plans for every possible scenario that gives him a thrill. It’s like playing chess against a new opponent before the board’s even set up.

So, when clients dug their own traps and put him at the bottom, it’s just _work._ Just firing a gun, and that was the part of the job he could do without.

Loki was used to his employers being incredibly vague with his targets.

But—god dammit. Being given nothing but a name to work with was the _worst, especially_ when it was a Japanese name with the stupid Japanese characters he didn’t know how to read let alone search through a database for. It had taken him two weeks to narrow his target’s location down to a single, run-down orphanage, and he thanked his lucky stars that the name he’d been given hadn’t been a super-common Eastern-equivalent to “John Smith,” else he would have been royally screwed. From there, he scheduled an appointment with his target to put a face to the name and set to work.

His employer wanted subtle, and that was exactly what he’d give him.

“Hello!” a petit woman greeted him, bowing politely in the customary Japanese manner. Loki bowed back. “We’ll get you situated in the interview room, and then I’ll go get Ake-chan. He’s been excited to meet you all week.”

He damn well be excited. Loki’s current cover, Lock Olsen, was a wealthy financial advisor perfectly tailored to easily slither his way into the grubby hands of the greedy. Anyone scummy enough to work at an orphanage wind up on a hitlist was bad potatoes, and

The hitman sits on the tiny couch and helps himself to one of the cookies as he scans the room. There are two more exit points, the ventilation system and a door to an adjoining room he hadn’t accounted for upon entering. He probably won’t need to use either of them, but checking is comforting and a way to pass the time.

Two minutes of waiting isn’t much in comparison to how long he often spends perched on rooftops with nothing but a rifle, but he still finds it annoying.

He expected a corrupt adult who spent all the orphanage’s funding on himself or an abusive caretaker. What he hadn’t expected was the seven-year-old that the caretaker returns with.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself to Mr. Olsen?” the woman prods. The kid bows his head.

“I’m Akechi Goro.”

The boy is small, too small for his age, with tawny hair and eyes so brown they look almost red. He doesn’t look Japanese, Loki mentally notes, not entirely, at least, but that’s not what he finds most alarming.

This child, for whatever reason, has the same name as his target. And Loki was thorough. He triple-checked every database available to him; there wasn’t anyone else in the city with that name. Something sinks in the hitman’s chest.

There’s no mistaking it.

His target is a _child._ Worse than that, he is an _orphan_ who looks up at him through his bangs with big, hopeful eyes, like he’s some kind of savior here to whisk him away from the claws of the system, and not a trained gun hired to end his life.

Loki may not be able to read complex Japanese characters, but he’s familiar enough about the nation’s culture to know that being an orphan in foster care is especially terrible in Japan. Even then, he hadn’t thought the social hatred towards orphans had gotten bad enough that people wanted them dead.

The assassin stands up in confusion, but his action is easily misinterpreted as politeness.

“Well, I’ll give you two a moment to get to know each other. Holler if you need anything,” she says before excusing herself.

The moment she leaves, the kid unceremoniously plops down on the adjacent couch-chair and eagerly has a go at the cookies, like a man starving. He shoves three into his mouth at once before coughing a bit and slowing down and uncomfortably looking up, clearly expecting Loki to stop him.

And Loki, for his part, wants to. But at the same time, what is he supposed to say afterwards? _‘Oops, I’m sorry, I’ve got the wrong person?’_ Talking to kids is so not his forte. Not anymore, at least. Were there ‘safe’ topics? He can’t remember. It’s been so long since Loki interacted with any; the last instance had been with his own kids, and that was over a decade ago, before they—

Kids liked to talk about themselves, right?

“How old are you, Goro?” That seemed safe enough.

“Seven and a half,” the boy chirps back, grabbing another cookie.

“You’re in first grade?” 

Goro hums. The cookies are now shoved in his cheeks, and he looks roughly like a gerbil.

“Do you like school?”

An adamant nod.

“What’s your favorite subject?”

After furiously swallowing down another cookie, the kid practically vibrates in excitement.

“I like all of them!”

And he starts talking and doesn’t stop.

Goro gives Loki a detailed description of his days at school—he likes writing class, and art class, and even math and science. The library has so many books and—oh! The class guinea pig always bites him, but that’s okay. After he started feeding it carrots, it warmed up to him. All of his teachers are mentioned by name, but Goro doesn’t talk about any of his classmates.

After a long-winded rambling about how cool the aquarium was, little Goro pauses and looks at Loki quizzically.

“Why are you alone?” he asks bluntly.

“Excuse me?”

“Whenever someone comes to talk to me, they’re with someone else.” Akechi explains, kicking his dangling feet against the bottom of the chair. He grabs another treat off the tray. “They ask me if I want them to be my mom and dad, but I already _have_ a mom.”

After that, the conversation ends. Loki promises to come back. A few days later, he surprises himself when he actually does.

Goro is somehow even more ecstatic than he was their initial meeting.

“You came back!” he squeals, delighted. “Nobody ever comes back.”

And Loki’s heart _melts._

A month later, Loki finds himself visiting the child several days a week. And then, without him quite realizing it, his deadline is two days away and he has to make a choice.

If he tells his employer he failed, he doesn’t get paid and fucks up his entire budget.

That’s not what he’s worried about.

If he fails, Shido will just hire someone else to kill this boy.

There’s only one choice, really.

Lock Olsen is a cover. Sure, he has papers and documentation, but the rich financial adviser, Lock Olsen, is a person who doesn’t exist.

Lock Olsen can’t adopt Goro Akechi.

But Luke Luafeyette can.

First, he just needs to get Masayoshi Shido out of the picture.

* * *

If asked, Robin Hood would confess to being gay. He isn’t typically asked; people tend to assume that being married to another man automatically makes him gay. It’s a safe assumption.

Privately, Robin can admit to himself that he doesn’t know. He’s not a flaming bisexual like Arsene, and he doesn’t often find himself double and triple-taking when an attractive person walks past. He’s had sex with men. Okay, _a_ man, namely being _the_ man he’s bound to, and that’s… nice. The first time was the night after their marriage to satisfy a curiosity, and the times afterwards… Well. Arsene is good at sex, and sex with Arsene is enjoyable. It’s not the passionate lovemaking romance novels advertise, nor is it the heated frenzy he’s seen on television. Sex with Arsene can be competitive and acrobatic and borderline dangerous, but, more than that, it’s comfortable.

There are no ‘I love yous’ in their bedroom. Arsene is a romantic at heart, and honest enough with his feelings to recognize that what he feels for Robin is nothing more than friendship. Robin feels the same. They’ve had talks about it. Several talks about it, on several occasions over the years, where both promised to inform the other the moment any deeper _feelings_ started blossoming.

A spark, is what Arsene called it.

Bullshit, is what Robin called it.

And then, while surveying Shido’s property, he ran into critically-acclaimed assassin, Loki.

‘Ran into’ being used entirely metaphorically, of course. Loki was nothing but deadly precision and far too skilled to allow himself to run into anyone. They _crossed paths_ in Shido’s backyard.

Robin, immediately recognizing the hitman, tackled the killer to the ground where they rolled around in a tangled ball of limbs before setting off several alarms, blowing their respective covers. The wound up teaming up to fight off a group of armed guards, before booking it on the back of Loki’s pimped-out motorcycle.

The entire time, Robin couldn’t help but admire _everything_ about the hitman. Loki was tall and angular, bordering on androgynous. He wore shoulder-pads in the summer heat, and the sound of his light-pitched voice sent shivers down Robin’s spine. He looked good in pleather. _Incredibly_ good. And his slimness hid a very toned body, which Robin learned after hugging the other man for dear life as they sped down the highway.

The thief got roped into helping the hitman kidnap an orphan and the rest was history.

* * *

“You helped a hitman gain custody of an orphan.” Arsene states, just to confirm that his hearing wasn’t impaired.

Robin fails to see the problem. “Yes, but not legally. From my understanding, Loki’s grown very attached.”

“He left the kid with you.”

A shrug. “Only until he comes back.”

“Robin, you _hate_ children.”

“Listen here, Arsene,” Robin rises to his full height. “I saw that man take down eight armed guards with his bare hands while wearing six-inch heels and working a pole.”

Arsene eyes him warily. “I want a divorce.”

**Author's Note:**

> They didn't really get any screen time in this fic since it didn't exactly match with the time period, but, in this AU, Johanna is Sae's badass on/off biker girlfriend that becomes Makoto's equivalent to a cool wine aunt. She's the life of the party, a fifth degree black belt, and does her damnedest to spoil Makoto.  
> Mi'Lady is Haru's personal bodyguard that owns too many illegal firearms and a raspberry-colored Hummer she pimped out to function like a tank. She can assemble an anti-tank rifle in less than a minute. According to her resume, she's only qualified to be a maid/housekeeper.  
> Goemon is an eccentric hermit a very young Yusuke found while traveling in the woods for inspiration. Yusuke has told several people about this man, and they're all convinced it's a figment of his over-active imagination. It isn't. Goemon is real, he lives in the woods, and he's probably killed someone. Also, he smokes a dope-ass pipe and might be on some next-level shit.  
> Carmen is a B-tier actress who babysat a little Ann before being scouted by her parents' agency. Despite making it big, she still is a prominent figure in Ann's life and the closest thing she has to an older sister.  
> 


End file.
